


you always gave me peace of mind

by prehistoric



Series: peace of mind [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Eventual Consent, Fingerfucking, Fucked Up, Incest, M/M, Pre-Poly, Rape/Non-con Elements, Somnophilia, Threesome, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 05:32:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10507299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prehistoric/pseuds/prehistoric
Summary: Dylan is his brother. Ryan loves him, and it’s ordinary. One slip doesn’t mean anything. The complicated dreams he’s had since the trip are rare. He has it under control.





	

**Author's Note:**

> in a word: caution.
> 
> respect to those who are bolder about sharing twisted stories.

Ryan tries to tune it out, but at this point he assumes neither John nor Dylan cares about how loud they are when they fuck. They’re never discreet. Maybe he should’ve been a little more reticent when they got together. Being so calm about the reveal that they were hooking up may have been the wrong way to go if it’s somehow led to Ryan’s TMI home life.

It’s annoying when Ryan’s trying to do something else. When it’s not annoying, it’s distracting, and his dick doesn’t seem to care about impropriety. He chubs up despite his best intentions and all the work he’s done to tamp what he knows he shouldn’t feel. Dylan getting involved with John was supposed to be safe. It was supposed to set a boundary. 

On his weakest days, Ryan slides his hands in his pants. Instead of getting up to shut his bedroom door and stifle their moans, Ryan touches himself. He leans against the wall at the head of his bed and pulls the front his underwear down. It’s not like he has to worry about getting caught stroking his cock. He can hear Dylan groan, interspersed with whatever muffled encouragement John gives. Sometimes the smack of their skin bleeds through the walls. 

Ryan jerks off trying to picture it. He’s not proud. They usually sound frantic. Dylan curses a lot and begs to be fucked harder. Ryan can imagine John splitting him open again and again. He reaches for the lube inside his nightstand drawer. He gets his cock wet and tightens his grip, clenching his thighs and lifting his hips. If he closes his eyes, he can listen to Dylan and imagine fucking up to the same rhythm. Maybe Ryan could be having sex right next to them, maybe he could be the one who pushes flush to Dylan’s hips and comes inside him instead of hot over slippery fingers. 

His senses dull as his orgasm rips through him. Come spills over his abs. He wipes his hand across the skin and hears a stray, “Please,” from Dylan that makes Ryan’s cock twitch one more time. 

He cleans off as they finish. By the time one of them surfaces from John’s bedroom later, Ryan’s busy playing video games in the living room. He acts like he didn’t hear anything.

 

The trouble really starts a week later. Ryan and John have been quiet for about an hour. He assumes they’re probably both decent again or that they’ll tell him to go away if not. When he knocks, John’s voice carries through the door. “Come in.”

“Hey,” Ryan says. He stops dead when he gets a clear view. “Oh, sorry.”

“No, you're fine.”

John’s sitting up with his phone in his hand. It’s a relaxed scene, but Dylan’s unmistakably naked. The lower half of his body is barely hidden by a sheet. Ryan can mostly make out the shape of his soft dick as he lies on his back, sleeping.

“Is he alright?” Ryan asks, meaning for it to be a joke. It doesn't come out quite like that.

“Tired him out,” John says. One of his hands is beneath the sheet, but he’s not really moving it much. Ryan thinks he might just be rubbing Dylan’s hip. The corner of John’s mouth tugs slightly. “Did you need something?”

“Um, right, yes. I was, uh.” Ryan has to shake his head and look down, away from the bed. “I was feeling lazy about cooking. Thought I’d order in. Did you guys want to hop on that, too?”

“Yeah, that's a good idea. Where are you ordering from?”

Ryan tells him the name of the Chinese restaurant. He waits in the doorway while John searches for the menu. It’s difficult for Ryan not to let his eyes keep straying toward Dylan, his waist. He wonders if Dylan left the bed at all after John fucked him. He could still be wet with lube. 

He expects John to wake Dylan and ask what he wants. Ryan’s heart beats faster in anticipation, Dylan waking up and realizing that John has let anyone see him this fucked out.

John says, “Ry. Earth to Ryan.”

“Yeah?”

Ryan’s not sure if the entertained look on John’s face seems more pronounced now or if he’s being paranoid.

John says, “I was trying to tell you what to get us.”

“Right. I’m ready.”

He doesn't wake Dylan at all. Ryan focuses on what John’s saying and repeats it back. 

“Got it?”

“I do, I’ll. I’m going to make the call right now.” It takes him another moment to tear himself from the doorway.

Once the food arrives, Ryan just calls out for them. Dylan’s yawning but clothed when he and John come to the kitchen.

“Ahh, this is perfect,” Dylan says. He grabs a seat and immediately starts digging through containers. “I love waking up from a nap to treats. Thanks, Ryan.”

John casually kisses the side of Dylan’s face as he sits down. He says thank you to Ryan, too, and Ryan does his best to say they're welcome without having to clear his throat.

 

It’s hard not to feel like John gets bolder after that. Ryan puts a lot of effort into staying cool, but he notices the way John touches Dylan more often. John kisses Dylan on the neck and slides his hands over Dylan’s waist more. His fingers are always edging up Dylan’s shirt. Once he pins Dylan’s hips to the kitchen counter with Ryan standing in the same room. Dylan giggles into John’s mouth and then says, “Stop, Ryan’s gonna start gagging in a second.”

“Hey, don't mind me,” Ryan says as he opens the fridge to grab the smoothie he made that morning. As if they need help disregarding his presence. 

The worst is when the door to John’s bedroom is cracked. Ryan returns from a run and hears them kissing when he walks through the hall. He hopes his footsteps are enough to let them know he’s home again, but the noises persist. Escalate. 

Ryan sits on the edge of his bed and hears Dylan moaning even clearer than usual. John is quiet. For a moment, Ryan imagines he’s doing it on purpose, letting Dylan’s keening take center stage.

Palming his cock through the shorts helps alleviate his arousal for a while. Eventually Ryan lies back and gets his fingers around skin, masturbating in time with the hitch of Dylan’s whining. 

He comes as Dylan’s chanting, “Oh, oh, oh.” The sound of it pitches up and stutters out like he’s drowning.

 

The problem is that Ryan has been teased with those sounds up close before. He tries not to revisit it much. 

Two summers ago, he and Dylan sat out on the porch of their family’s AirBnb during vacation and finished a bottle of wine their parents cracked open. It was the perfect amount of alcohol to make wandering around their woodsy neighborhood in the dark seem like fun.

Dylan made Ryan give chase suddenly. Leaves crunched softly underfoot, and Ryan followed the sounds until he could swing around and cut Dylan off. He tackled him down at the edge of a copse of trees. Dylan’s shriek echoed, and Ryan clamped a hand over his mouth, laughing. 

“What the fuck. Are you trying to wake up everyone in the area?” Ryan whispered. 

He could hear Dylan snickering behind his hand. His knees came up, shifting Ryan just enough that their hips aligned. Ryan sucked in a sharp breath as their crotches brushed, and Dylan went still underneath him. Trying to maneuver at all only emphasized the position. Ryan’s attempt at regaining his balance made him slide up slightly, and Dylan’s eyes fluttered shut for the briefest, most confusing moment. 

Instinct betrayed Ryan. He rolled his hips, watching to see if it made Dylan react again. Dylan stared up, but his gaze was indecipherable. Surprised or passive or — Ryan didn’t want to think of what else it could be plainly. The grind of his hips repeated. Dylan’s teeth sunk into the meat of Ryan’s palm, giving Ryan pause as he bucked and whimpered in the grass. 

Ryan finally pushed away in a rush. He sat back on his hands, the grass wiping away the hint of Dylan’s spit still on his right hand. Dylan looked obviously stunned now, tempered by the haze of alcohol. 

“We should go back,” Ryan had said and didn’t wait for Dylan to answer before he stood and started off. 

Ignoring it got increasingly easier after a couple of days. Ryan kept thinking of it as an accident, a strange heat-of-the-moment lapse thanks to wine, circumstance and a humid summer night. He didn’t bring it up and Dylan hadn’t pushed either. They’d handled it. They forgot about it. It didn’t matter if Ryan’s brain drifted back to those quiet moments in the open at night for weeks after. It was immaterial that stray, perplexing feelings that Ryan used to dismiss coalesced and got thrown into sharper relief. 

Dylan is his brother. Ryan loves him, and it’s ordinary. One odd slip doesn’t mean anything. The complicated dreams he’s had since then are rare and probably stress-related. He wakes up hard sometimes and plays with himself as he stares up at the ceiling, focused on keeping his mind safely blank. It’s been two years. He has it under control.

 

Sex with the door ajar doesn’t stop. Ryan could say something, but it feels almost more embarrassing to call it an issue. They’re a couple. Couples fuck. It’s not that weird to know your siblings have sex lives. If Ryan ever brings someone home, they probably won’t make a big deal about it.

Ryan never brings anyone home.

It gets worse when Dylan tweaks his back during training. His doctor recommends a couple weeks of rest and gives him a prescription to help relieve pain and tension in his muscles so he can sleep at night. Less work means more downtime, means more of Dylan demanding attention. John seems to handle the issue by putting his cock in Dylan whenever he isn't busy. 

Ryan takes to wearing earplugs at night. He stays out more. One Saturday he even makes some headway with a woman at a club. They move things back to her place, making out on her couch as she ruts against him. Ryan gets her off with his tongue eventually, but his heart isn’t in it when she asks what he wants in return.

“You could still fuck me,” she says. “I like it after I’ve already come.”

It’s appealing, but Ryan shakes his head. “I’m fine. Promise. I only wanted to get you off.”

The line is too saccharin, but she laughs good-naturedly. He declines again when she asks if he’s sure, kissing her cheek before he gets up to leave.

His bones feel heavy from a night out drinking. Ryan had enough to hit a nice level of tipsy, but that was hours ago. Now he mostly feels groggy when he gets back to the condo.

Most of the lights are off. Ryan drags his fingers along the wall as he heads down the hallway. He hums a little and yawns, pausing when he comes to John’s bedroom. The door’s open. The light’s on. Ryan can say a quick goodnight.

John isn’t in the room. It takes a few more moments to process the sound of running water, the shower. Dylan’s asleep on the bed again, but he’s lying on his stomach this time. He’s sprawled out, legs a semblance of akimbo. The sheet is at his feet. 

Ryan stares at the curve of his ass. The skin is completely smooth. Somewhere in the back of Ryan’s mind, he can feel this etching in forever. He’ll never unknow what Dylan looks like naked from behind, that his skin is unbroken. At first, Ryan thinks it’s a trick of the light that makes something on him seem to glisten. Lube, it dawns on him. He steps into the room a few paces before he catches himself, spurned on by natural curiosity. He wants confirmation. 

He should go. Ryan clenches his fist and listens to the sound of the shower. John could come back in as soon as he’s finished. That he’s just now showering could mean Dylan hasn’t been out long, that he’s not even fully asleep.

“Dyl?” Ryan says. He doesn’t know how he’ll play it off if Dylan looks up, startled. Dylan doesn’t move. “Dylan.” Even with more bass behind the word, Dylan doesn’t look up. Ryan can see his back move, chest expanding evenly with breaths. 

Leaving would still be the best decision. Ryan touches his ankle. The shower turning off could give him enough warning to walk away before John came into the bedroom again. Ryan traces the round bone in Dylan’s foot. Dylan stays still. 

Ryan lightly trails fingers up along the inside of Dylan’s leg. He has to kneel on the bed when he gets high enough. At exactly the moment he puts his knee on the bed, Dylan’s body jumps. Ryan pauses, holding his breath. Dylan doesn’t do anything else, relaxing again. Ryan waits another beat and considers retreating. He’s so close to seeing, though. If he finds out, he can leave. He’ll know if his suspicion is right, that John left him open and wet, and he can exit satisfied with the answer. That’s all. 

Rubbing fingers over the smear on Dylan’s ass sends a thrill to Ryan’s cock. He swipes fingers down the crack, not even pushing yet. He can’t believe he’s here. Dylan is so still. He lets a thumb work between Dylan’s cheeks. It’s overwhelming just to feel the way his ass closes around his thumb, and then Ryan pulls, spreading Dylan apart gently. 

There’s more lube. His skin is shiny with it. There’s pearly spunk right at his hole, a hint of what else is inside, and that surprises Ryan. They don’t use protection. Ryan’s half hard. He brings his left hand up, and he holds Dylan open with his right while he drags the pads of his fingers over that messy opening, rubbing in the come and slick. 

Dylan makes a faint noise as he sighs. Ryan waits for his breathing to settle back to even and presses his thumb against Dylan’s skin right next to his hole just to see it start to stretch. He wonders how loose Dylan would be if he slowly dipped a finger inside. Maybe he’d hardly notice it, Ryan pushing in and out and waiting to see if Dylan gets hard again in his sleep.

“What are you doing?” 

Ryan’s head snaps up. John is standing just outside of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He’s paused with his hands over the knot at his side, frozen in the middle of drying off.

“Nothing, I’m. This is — I was only trying to—” Ryan feels like an idiot, suddenly bathed in terror. He stopped listening for the shower. There’s no way to explain this.

John says, “Jesus, Ryan.”

“It’s not what you think.” He takes his hands off Dylan and moves his knee back. 

“Really?” John says, and it seems like he crosses the room unbelievably fast. He grabs Ryan’s shoulder and holds him there. Trapped. “Dylan would be fine with it if he woke up?”

“God. Johnny, I’m gonna go.” He manages to force that much out, only his second mostly coherent sentence. When he tries to turn, John keeps his hold.

“Did you feel inside?”

“No. I promise. I would—” Never. That’s all he has to say. He can’t. Ryan knows what he was just thinking about. Everything's cracking at the edges. He’d been doing so well. He was keeping himself together. 

“Why not? That’s why you’re in here. Isn’t it?” Johnny asks. His grip is so tight on Ryan’s arm. He won’t be surprised if he can feel faint bruises later. “I had a feeling about you, but I didn’t know you were perverted.”

“I’m not,” Ryan grits out, frustrated.

John scoffs, clearly disbelieving. “You get caught playing with your brother’s ass, and that’s normal?”

“Johnny.”

“Touch him.”

Ryan shakes his head. “I can go.” 

Forgetting that he was ever here would be ideal, but John won’t relent. He moves into Ryan, right over his shoulder. He says, “He’s out. It’s the pill, you know? For his back. He likes falling asleep while I fuck him.”

“Shit.” Ryan grits his teeth. “Come on, let me just leave.”

“You came in here on your own,” John reminds him. “Are you picturing it? Dylan with his ass up, letting me drill him until he’s down for the night.” His hand slides down Ryan’s arm, guiding his hand back to Dylan’s body. He pushes Ryan’s hand over Dylan’s thigh, and desire gets the better of Ryan again. He takes over, squeezing Dylan’s ass and spreading him again. “I kept fucking him. Filled him up.”

“He’s still wet,” Ryan says, softly. His face must be so red. He’s humiliated. “I could tell.”

“Use your fingers. He won’t wake up.” John holds onto Ryan’s side and nudges at him. “It’s what you want, right?”

Ryan does. He’s wanted Dylan for so long. He’s ashamed to acknowledge it, but now he’s right over Dylan’s body. He’s naked and pliable and _ready_ , according to John. Ryan doesn’t know why John’s encouraging this, maybe to make him feel worse. He probably deserves to have it rubbed in his face. He’s tried so hard to be good, and he’s not. 

“It’s my brother,” Ryan says, like one last reminder might save him.

“He won’t know,” John says. 

It’s not permission, really, but Ryan was touching Dylan without even this much prompting a few minutes ago. He rubs over Dylan’s hole again. Though he’s now a little drier on the outside, Ryan presses his index in with relative ease. He slides slowly down to the knuckle and swears under his breath as Dylan whines in his sleep. 

“He’s alright,” John says. “Keep going.”

Ryan pulls his finger back just as carefully, then sinks in again. It’s so smooth. Dylan’s sloppy and soft inside, so warm. Ryan’s cock is rock hard. John tells him when to work up to two, then another. Dylan’s body makes a slick, light sucking sound as Ryan fingers him. He’s not forceful about it, terrified that Dylan will stir for real, but John reassures him.

He says, “Believe me. I’ve waited and gone a second round on him. Still nothing.”

“Fuck, that’s hot.” Ryan says it before he can think about it and then bites his lip. 

John chuckles. He leans in, tucking his mouth against Ryan’s neck as he asks, “Is that what you really came for? You want to fuck Dylan?”

The hand on Ryan’s side moves to cup him through his pants. Ryan grunts and jerks his hips forward into it, wishing the shame would sap his arousal. But it’s already playing in his head, how Dylan would stretch around his cock and let Ryan press down into him as much as he could stand. How he wouldn’t move. In the fantasies he tries to hold at arm’s length, Dylan’s always responsive. He’s enthusiastic and as loud as Ryan can hear through the walls. John’s put an alternative in his head. It still winds him up with want.

John undoes Ryan’s pants while Ryan holds Dylan open with his fingers. He’s astounded by the way Dylan still seems completely peaceful. His cock springing up out of his underwear, exposed to the air, is strangely grounding. For a moment, he’s completely sober instead of wrapped up in fear and lust. Dylan’s out, and Ryan’s going to fuck him. He should go, but John curls his fingers around the base of his cock and strokes up. Ryan shudders. 

“Here you go,” John says. He moves away briefly and returns with lube. His grip is wet when he reaches for Ryan’s dick again, making him slippery. He didn’t even grab a condom. “Go ahead.”

Ryan pushes Dylan’s legs together and crawls over his thighs, propping most of his own weight on one arm. He’s still not sure why John is allowing this, egging it on, but Ryan’s too close to what he’s craved to question it anymore. John moves to sit on the bed, occupying the side Dylan wouldn't be able to see right away if he woke. He watches Ryan line himself up, pushing Dylan’s cheek aside and bumping his cockhead over Dylan’s hole. 

The head breaches Dylan slowly, in increments, and then all at once. Ryan exhales in one long breath, trying to contain most of the sound. Dylan’s hips shift minutely, like reflex, but pinning him to the bed isn’t hard. He’s reacting not resisting.

“There you go,” John says. “Give him more.”

He leans over and squirts more lube on Dylan’s skin as Ryan plunges deeper. He can’t get over how warm he is inside. His heart feels so full watching his cock widen Dylan’s hole and the way Dylan’s body takes it easily. Ryan whimpers despite himself when he bottoms out. It feels so good.

“He’s tight,” Ryan whines.

“Every time,” John says. The corner of his mouth is stretched, lifted. Definitely a smirk now. 

Ryan takes his time, pulling all the way out before he drives in again. The squelch of lube is louder when it’s his cock pumping into Dylan instead of fingers. Ryan has to bite his lip again to keep from moaning continuously. No matter what John says, Ryan doesn’t want to risk this more than he absolutely needs. 

He’s able to gather a nice momentum. Not too fast, not too hard. He shortens his thrusts but keeps taking his time. He wants to feel every part of Dylan as much as he can. Fuck, he’s wanted this so badly. It’s a head trip to admit it to himself now, after trying to contain it. But John sees him. He knows how badly Ryan wants this. He’s watching Ryan love the chance to fuck his brother raw after he turned down getting off with someone else.

John leans back on his elbows and pushes aside the flaps of his towel. His erection curves up toward his belly. “That’s it,” he’s saying as he watches Ryan. He strokes his cock in time with Ryan’s snaps forward. “It’s like he’s made for it.”

Ryan shivers on a downstroke. This must be the kind of cheerleading he does for Dylan, telling him how great he is. Ryan would, too, if he could. 

“Fuck,” Ryan bites out when Dylan clenches once, reflexive. He starts to make groggy noises into his pillow, tilting. 

John pushes him back on his front all the way. “No, it’s okay, baby. It’s me. Stay right there. Let me use you.”

Dylan’s expression is pinched, caught in that strange place between dreams and wakefulness. His brow smooths as he drifts again. Ryan starts back up, wishing he could reach out and stroke Dylan’s hair. His face. He wants to comfort Dylan. He’s due more than that for how good he’s making Ryan feel.

Adrenaline hits him in a wave. It’s the combination of the situation and almost getting caught. It’s a thousand other tiny surreal things about this. His balls tighten, nearing the finish. Ryan starts to pull away, but John shakes his head. 

“Stay inside. He likes it,” John says. He’s still jerking off leisurely. “Don’t disappoint him.”

Ryan’s a little sweaty, his arms burning from holding the same position. Coming inside Dylan is tempting, but he’s afraid he’ll collapse on him. There’s no way Dylan could stay asleep after that.

“I can’t,” he says, and he hates how much it sounds like an apology. “Fuck, Johnny, he’s too good. I need to stop.”

He slips out and sits back. His cock is really slippery. It doesn’t take much longer for Ryan to come, yanking around the head until he splatters over Dylan’s cheeks. Some gets on the small of Dylan’s back, and Ryan shuts his eyes like he can burn it in his memory right alongside the sight that started all of this. Dylan relatively clean versus Dylan twice used. John cups his hand around the head of his cock when he comes, catching most of it in his palm. Wiping the spunk on Dylan’s thigh makes him look even better. 

Ryan feels stuck in a different way now. He can’t stop looking. 

“Was he what you hoped?”

Something tremulous and fearful creeps up behind the haze of his orgasm. It was better. Ryan hangs his head and eventually says, “Yeah.” 

He’s going to feel terrible about this in the morning. It’s going to start as soon as he leaves this room, he already knows. John pats him on the leg and lies down completely, sighing. “I knew you wanted it.”

 

Ryan showers in his own room and takes too long to fall asleep. In the morning, Dylan shakes him awake, and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

John hadn't said much else. He’d let Ryan go with all of his conflicting feelings knotted in his stomach. He has no idea why Dylan would be here. He braces for an explosion.

“Easy, scaredy cat,” Dylan says and laughs at him. 

“Sorry,” Ryan says cautiously. Part of him keeps expecting Dylan to sock him in the chest, but Dylan’s sitting back on his heels like he’s simply waiting for Ryan to get his bearings. 

He tugs at the collar of his t-shirt, and Ryan wishes his first thought wasn’t that fresh clothes must mean Dylan has showered already, too. Dylan doesn’t seem in a hurry to continue. He raises his eyebrows and looks at Ryan so long that Ryan finally asks just to save himself from combusting.

“What’s wrong?”

“I was thinking of making pancakes,” Dylan says. 

“Oh.” Ryan’s still wary, but he sits straighter more and rubs his eyes. “Why do you need me?”

“I never get them even like you do. I don’t want the crispy edges.” Dylan shrugs. “I’ve been useless this week, and I wanted to do something. Make breakfast. My back doesn’t hurt so much right now.”

Ryan’s still trying to sort out his nerves. “Okay…”

Dylan gets impatient and touches his knee, reaches for Ryan’s hand. “Get _up_ ,” he says. Ryan’s eyes flutter shut at that small bit of contact, his heart thumping. He tries to cover the reaction with a yawn. Dylan tilts his head. “You look so tired. Were you out really late last night?”

“Um.” Every bad choice he’s made runs through Ryan’s head again. “Got back in pretty far into the late hours, yeah.”

“Hm.” Dylan nods slowly. He opens his mouth like he has another question, then tugs Ryan’s hand. “Too bad. Help me.” 

The first thirty minutes have Ryan feeling like he’s half-outside his body. It’s hard to reconcile last night with Dylan joyfully humming along with the playlist on his phone now. Having a task helps Ryan latch back onto reality. He mixes the batter while Dylan sets out the largest skillet they have and brushes butter over it. 

“All these fancy dishes we hardly ever use,” he says. “What is this brush for other than butter?”

“Glazes, I guess,” Ryan says. He tries not to look at Dylan too long. Music playing means Dylan dances around, working his hips. Usually Ryan would laugh and chirp him until he stopped. He can’t get anything in his head to work entirely right. There’s nothing sexy about the way Dylan bops to a beat, but Ryan’s eyes continue to be drawn down, and all he can see is the contrast. Naturally, Dylan moves a lot more in the daylight. Last night he was so still. He felt nice. 

“You okay there?” Dylan asks, swatting Ryan with a spatula. 

“What? Of course.” Ryan holds out the bowl of pancake mix. “This is all taken care of for you.”

Dylan handles most of the flipping. He eventually gets the hang of the timing, each one browning evenly on both sides. Despite decent intentions, it leaves Ryan leaning against the counter to supervise from behind. He looks at the line of Dylan’s back through his shirt, notices that the waistline of his boxer briefs is uneven. Ryan drags his eyes up again, to safer ground, and instead he’s transfixed by Dylan’s neck. He didn’t have a chance to touch Dylan much once he pushed into him. If Ryan was letting himself track things he’d want to do over, finding out what it’s like to kiss Dylan there might be one. 

“Morning, boys,” John says as he sweeps into the room. 

“Hey, excellent timing,” Dylan says, smiling as he looks over his shoulder. “Ry, can you get plates going?”

“Sure.” 

They’ve piled a nice stack of pancakes. Ryan divvies up the lot between three dishes while Dylan finishes off the dregs of the batter. He brings one stack over to John and sets it down. 

“Thank you,” John says, smiling at him.

Ryan rubs his neck awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. Let me bring the syrup, too.”

He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to get through the day, let alone the rest of his life, if he can’t look either one of them in the eye. It’s been a bizarre morning. Sitting down with his own plate, Ryan swings back and forth between shame and being more fond of Dylan than before. His feelings won’t be ignored now, not when he’s had nearly everything he wanted. And on top of being caring and funny, now Ryan knows Dylan feels perfect.

“Brought you the little guy,” Dylan says, holding the last pancake on the spatula. A mini circle. He slips it on the top of John’s plate and then grins at him.

John tugs Dylan onto his lap, making Dylan squawk. “Thank you, babe,” John says. He plants a kiss on Dylan’s chin. “These look great.”

“Ugh, you got me sticky.” Dylan wipes at his chin, but he looks pleased.

“Like that’s new for you.”

“Oh, my _god_.” Dylan jabs John in the chest. John must pinch or something in retaliation, because Dylan jumps and bumps the table. “Whoops,” he says and chuckles. “Sorry, Ryan.”

“How’re you doing over there, Ry?” John asks. He’s smiling at him again, coy.

Ryan wipes his mouth on his napkin. “I’m — good,” he says and takes a sip of orange juice. “These came out great, Dylan. No crisp.”

“ _Yes_.” Dylan does a fist pump and pushes out of John’s lap. “Let me grab mine.”

Surviving breakfast stays difficult. John and Dylan can’t help how much they flirt, and it seems like every other comment John makes has him cut his eyes toward Ryan. They have a secret, and Ryan sees it in everything now. He should’ve come in and gone right to bed last night. 

When everyone’s finished, Dylan says, “I cooked; you two clean.”

Ryan tries to do the dishes as quickly and as silently as possible. John doesn’t make it that easy, trying his best to make small talk. He brings up their workout later and his idea for what they might attempt to cook for dinner. “Dylan spent about an hour in a random recipes black hole yesterday, all because he first had a craving for beef stew,” John says, shaking his head. He seems so loose and amused. Stress is knotting Ryan up, and John doesn’t have a single problem.

“Why did you let me do that?” he finally asks, snappish.

Thankfully, John at least seems taken aback. “I thought you’d still be on cloud nine.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t act like it’s not a big deal.” Fucking Dylan isn’t something Ryan can be nonchalant about. 

Sighing, John says, “I know what it’s like to look at him and want him.” He puts the plate in his hand on the counter and fidgets with the dry towel in his hands. “You liked it.”

“I shouldn’t. I’m not even supposed to know how it feels.” He presses his knuckles into the counter’s edge, grateful for the dull way it starts to sting.

John rubs his back. It feels more like mocking than commiseration. “You shouldn’t know how good he is?” John leans closer. “Are you worried once isn’t enough?”

“I won’t,” Ryan says. He can’t do that again. 

Patting his shoulder, John says, “Lucky for you, the medicine for his back runs out in a few days. No opportunity then anyway.” Ryan dares to glance at him again, and John smiles with teeth, disarming. “Problem solved.” 

He bumps into Ryan companionably and goes back to the sink like that’s that.

 

John is a horrible boyfriend. Not only has he let Ryan fuck Dylan — pushed him to do it! — but he doesn’t rein in anything about the way they carry on afterward. When Ryan’s mood is more anger than remorse, he wants to shout ridiculous things like, “Modesty!” or curse John out for not being better at guarding Dylan from other people. From him. Instead, John palms Dylan’s ass when he knows Ryan’s in the same room. He kisses Dylan constantly, a slow and seductive meeting of their mouths that earns small moans from Dylan before he nudges John back. 

At least Dylan is trying to keep their shared apartment mildly civil. It only extends to being right in front of Ryan, of course. Dylan’s as loud as ever when they have sex. It’s nothing Ryan can relate to, really. Dylan wasn’t like that with him, but Ryan can’t help but mentally marry the two as he tucks his fingers inside his underwear, cradling his cock while he listens to them fuck. 

He hates that John gives him knowing looks. He hates being seen so plainly. 

Ryan walks into the living room one afternoon and sees Dylan with his arms around John’s neck, kissing him. John squeezes Dylan’s ass. It’s proprietary. He notices Ryan first and lifts his eyebrow. Ryan feels like he’s being laughed at even though John’s mouth is occupied. 

After a moment, Ryan clears his throat, and Dylan steps back.

Dylan joins them for a jog the next day against all of their better judgement. “Don’t baby me,” he says. “I feel good. I’ll keep it light.”

He makes it a couple miles before he needs a break, complaining of pinching in his back. “Told you,” John says when Dylan starfishes face down on the grass. He sits down beside him. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Dylan whines.

Ryan bends forward, hands resting on his knees. “You should’ve stayed home and done the stretches.” 

“I was ready to tear my hair out if I spent all day inside again,” Dylan says. The complaint is muffled by his arm and the ground. 

“I can sit here with you.” John says, fond. He touches Dylan’s hair gently. 

Dylan whines again. “Oh, no, pity.”

“Take it,” John says and slaps Dylan’s ass. Dylan groans. He glances at Ryan right after, and Ryan rolls his eyes. John chuckles and looks back down to Dylan. “Need me to carry you back?”

“If only,” Dylan says and lifts his head. “Finish your run. Get me on the way back.”

“We don’t have to,” Ryan says. 

Dylan insists, waving them off. “Go, go.”

John gets back to his feet and yanks at Ryan’s shirt as he passes. “You heard him.”

Ryan thinks about saying no, thanks. It doesn’t really make sense, though, and John has been relatively quiet when they work out the last few days, if no less smug. Ryan sprints to catch up with him and drops back to a jog. 

“Five more?” John asks. 

“Miles?” Ryan shakes his head. “I’ll die. It’s getting hot out.”

“You can do it.”

That’s the John he’s known for years. He pushes Ryan to his limit in the gym and on the ice, and then he goads him into going a few markers past that. The challenges have helped Ryan adjust to the league, start to steady his career. He didn’t expect it to be something John carried over to other areas. Maybe that’s Ryan’s mistake. 

His lungs are burning by the last mile. They still have one more before they get back to Dylan, and John says, “He’ll be worn out later. He’s got two more pills, though.” 

“Stop,” Ryan says, panting. He’s tempted to force his legs to run faster, break ahead to see if that would help. 

“Two more chances. Then he’s done.”

Ryan stumbles to a stop and takes a knee. He sucks in breaths, asking, “Please. Johnny, I’m trying. I can’t.” 

John walks back the few paces he overshot. His breaths are shallow, too. He bends in to say, “I’m just checking on what you want.”

Ryan tips his head back, squinting at the sky. He grits his teeth and looks down again, blinking. Sweat drops onto the ground. “It was bad enough the first time.”

If Dylan ever found out, Ryan would be screwed. He and Johnny both would be, and Ryan hates himself enough without Dylan cutting him off completely.

“Then tell me no,” John says. “If you say you don’t want it, I won’t ask again.”

It’s simple. Ryan has to fix his mouth to reject the offer one more time. All he has to do is say he isn’t thinking about it anymore. He can live with the memory of what it was like to be with Dylan and move on with his life. He only has to say no.

Ryan swears low. “I want,” he starts and can’t. He can’t.

“What was that?” John asks.

“I want him,” Ryan confesses, the end of it engulfed in a jagged exhale. 

John crouches down with him. Ryan can sense John right in front him, but it takes a moment before he has the nerve to look at his face. John appraises him. Steady rather than taunting. 

“Alright,” he says eventually and stands. “Stop taking breaks. He’s waiting for us.”

 

At first, Ryan assumes he’ll have to wait until late that night, but Dylan becomes significantly uncomfortable in the evening. They haven’t even had dinner yet when he moans and says, “Is six o’clock too early to take this pill and go to sleep?” 

He’s curled up with John on the recliner. A half-hearted session of calling out game show answers has given way to more noncommittal TV watching. Though he’s lying mostly on top of John, Ryan can’t imagine that position is great for Dylan’s back either. 

John says, “You might wake up at two in the morning.”

“Boooo.” Dylan sighs. “But I’m tempted to go to bed.”

“You want a sleeping pill with it? Maybe that’ll help keep you down until morning. A nice 14-hour siesta.” He grins against Dylan’s cheek, plants a kiss on his chin. 

Dylan half-smiles and asks, “Would mixing those be bad?”

“It’s one night,” John says. “We’ll check on you to make sure you’re breathing.” His eyes flick over to Ryan, and Ryan quickly looks away. 

“Gee, thanks,” Dylan says, exaggerating. He gingerly pushes his way off the chair, wincing slightly. “Alright, yes, give me the stuff.” Ryan watches him tilt to the side, elongating the muscles carefully. “Oof. Tender.” He waves. “Night.”

“Night, Dyl.” It comes out gentler than he means. Ryan could stop this, but he doesn’t give John any cues to change anything about their plan when he stands up as well.

“I’ll be right back,” John says even though Ryan knows better.

Sitting in the front alone doesn’t give Ryan much to do but fiddle with the arm of the couch, the seam of his jeans, anything. Nothing. TV can’t absorb his attention. He doesn’t want to answer any of his DMs and texts from family or friends. It’s almost funny that Dylan and John are quieter right now. The one time moans and cursing could help with the anticipation, Ryan can’t really hear anything. 

He slides his fingers over his quads, breathing methodically. Minutes tick by like molasses. He manages to make it through an episode or two of some sitcom he doesn’t know before his phone buzzes, surprising him. 

The text from John reads, _Ready._

Ryan’s cock is interested right away. He has a semi by the time he reaches John’s bedroom. Pushing the door wider to see John on his knees on the bed, rocking down into Dylan’s ass with one of Dylan’s legs on his shoulders takes him the rest of the way. 

“Wow,” Ryan says. That gets John’s attention. 

He smiles. “Nice and loose for you. He fell asleep not too long ago, but I think it’s fine since he took both pills.” 

“Yeah.” It doesn’t really matter now. Ryan’s in the room. If Dylan wasn’t out, the few things John just said might be incriminating already.

John backs off as Ryan gets closer, his cock slipping out of Dylan. He holds up Dylan’s leg while Ryan takes off his pants and underwear. “Here,” John says. “Let’s switch.”

“You didn’t finish?” Ryan asks. 

John strokes his erection as he moves off to the side. “Call it a gift.”

There’s lube and John’s phone on the comforter next to Dylan’s hip. Ryan picks up the bottle of lube and uses that to prep. Dylan’s hole is already wet and slightly open. He takes the opportunity to gaze for a moment, in awe of how great Dylan looks when he’s ready to be fucked. 

Dylan’s lying on his back. Ryan knows it’s probably more to prevent him from waking up with new discomfort, but he likes being able to do this face-to-face. He presses Dylan’s thigh toward his torso and dips inside in one, long thrust. A groan escapes without Ryan’s permission. Dylan makes an involuntary noise, too, but it’s lower. Ryan savors the tight clutch of his body.

Moving is gradual. Ryan builds it up in tiny steps, like his cock can memorize all the details of how Dylan stretches around his every inch. He takes his time feeling him out like that. It’s a few minutes before he’s really sliding with purpose, moaning at how sweet Dylan’s ass is. 

“You’re so careful,” John says. 

For a second, Ryan’s forgotten about him. He looks up, and John’s holding his cock with one hand and his cell phone with the other.

“Don’t record this,” Ryan says, thrusting forward. Dylan can’t know. It’s too risky. 

“I’m not getting your faces in it,” John says. “It’s something to remember him by.”

Ryan whimpers. He wants to argue it more, but he’s here for Dylan. He wants to focus on the time they have. Re-situating his weight helps Ryan fuck into him faster. Dylan looks so relaxed. He takes it so well. Ryan rubs over one of his nipples and down, making sure to feel Dylan in a way he didn’t get to before. There’s still a lot he’ll miss out on this round, too. He wishes he had more time to really take care of him, maybe see if Dylan can come while he’s sleeping. 

“What’s he like,” Ryan asks, harsh breaths piercing the sentence with each thrust. “When he’s awake, what’s he like?”

John hums thoughtfully. “You’ve heard him, haven’t you?”

Heat coils in Ryan anew. They’ve never acknowledged it. He falls forward, pressing Dylan’s legs back more and getting close enough that Ryan could kiss him if he wanted. The wet sound of Ryan fucking into him heightens with the shift in angle. 

“Yeah,” Ryan says. He’s heard Dylan get loud. 

“That’s how he is,” John says. “He loves it. Begs for it. Sort of slutty. Kind of an exhibitionist.”

“He wants me to hear.” Ryan ruts into Dylan hard enough that he moves up the bed. Ryan has to pause, regain control. Luckily Dylan still isn’t doing more than moaning occasionally, feeling it but never quite aware. He wonders if Dylan will feel the echoes of having his legs spread and ass thoroughly used tomorrow.

John says, “The risk of being caught does make him come really hard.”

“Oh. Fuck, okay.” Ryan needs John to stop talking now. He’s bursting with affection, mired in how amazing Dylan is. He wishes he could see it himself, Dylan needy and eager. He wonders if Dylan might have let him do this after all. Part of Ryan aches for that — a world where he has the courage to ask, and Dylan admits that he’s curious about the same unspeakable things. Ryan almost wishes he could wake him, but there’s no good explanation for this. Waking up with his brother’s cock working in and out of him would still be too much of a surprise. 

Ryan pushes his face into Dylan’s neck, humping him. Their skin slaps lightly, but Dylan still doesn’t wake. “I love him,” Ryan breathes. “He feels so right. He’s. Shit, so good for me.” 

“Come like that,” John says, speeding up his hand on his cock. “Let him get you off this time.”

It’s a struggle to hold out. Ryan delays his orgasm as long as he can, and he feels a tremor kickstart from his cock and ripple throughout his body when he comes, shaking. He’s paralyzed. He spills into Dylan, snug and hot. Ryan hitches his hips a few times, fucking the spunk into him and enjoying how much slicker Dylan feels. 

“Ryan.” John says, touching his shoulder. “Give me some room.”

Ryan lifts his head. John’s stroking steadily, pressing towards his edge. His come spurts onto Dylan’s slack face, over his cheeks and mouth. A bit catches Ryan on chin, and he’s stunned. John gasps and says, “Sorry.” Ryan looks up at him. He cranes forward, because nothing makes sense here, and the chaos makes him reckless. John sounds surprised when Ryan’s mouth closes around his cockhead. It doesn’t take him long to adjust, pushing forward and letting Ryan suck him clean.

When Ryan pulls back, he licks his lips. John touches his head. The side of his thumb strokes down Ryan’s temple. It’s nice to bask in the affection, and then look to Dylan again, the way he’s peaceful with spunk all over his face. Ryan can’t believe they messed him up this much.

“Where’s your phone?” he asks. 

“Ah, this you want a picture of,” John teases.

He obliges, however, getting a couple shots of Dylan’s face. “Send them to me,” Ryan says, though his own cell is still in his pants pocket. He’ll have to check later. 

Right now he’s too preoccupied with wiping his chin and touching Dylan’s skin. Ryan drops close enough to graze his lips over Dylan’s throat. Dylan’s mouth is parted, and Ryan traces the come over it more. He kisses Dylan lightly, not caring about the taste. He just wants Dylan. He’s going to keep wanting him after this, but this night is what he has left. 

He feels down along Dylan’s body and finds him half hard. It’s not enough to really work with, so Ryan rocks into Dylan until he’s soft instead. “Love you, D,” he whispers.

“I’ll tell him you said so,” John jokes. It might sound more like a taunt if he wasn’t dazed from coming. 

“Thank you,” Ryan says to him. He’s thinking of everything. John didn’t need to let him get anywhere near Dylan, but he allowed Ryan to find out what it’s like to have all of him.

He bumps his knuckles into Ryan’s shoulder in acknowledgement. Ryan shuffles back and pushes Dylan’s cheeks apart to see some of his come leak out. He traces a finger over that sensitive space, lingering, and finally gets off the bed to collect his pants and underwear. 

“You can take care of him?” Ryan asks, wiping at his cock with his boxers. 

“That’s what I’m here for.” John lies down fully to get to Dylan’s face, kissing his forehead. 

Ryan isn’t jealous. It isn’t his place. He’s glad Dylan has someone else who looks after him. 

“Alright,” he says. “Goodnight.”

He needs to shower.

 

Ryan’s prepared for a goodbye. He made a choice, and it felt amazing, but Dylan isn’t his. Not like that. Ryan’s psyched himself up to be content with the photo and video John texted to him. They can be his only reminders, kept secret and safe, and the rest will stay locked in his memories forever. The next time John and Dylan fuck in the apartment while Ryan’s around, Ryan plays his clip with the volume off and jerks off watching it while Dylan’s moans carry through the walls. Simple. He’s got a plan for dealing with his complicated longing. 

John’s continued texts puts a huge kink in the pathetic future Ryan’s envisioned. It starts when he wakes up to a new picture three days later. Dylan has his mouth on John’s dick, peeking out from underneath a sheet. The message right below it says, _Look who woke up feeling generous._

He sends photos of his hand in Dylan’s pants or something as simple as them kissing. He sends a video where John walks into his bathroom and pulls back the shower door. “Say hi to the spank bank,” John says, which makes Dylan snort, followed up with a cheesy smile. He wiggles his hips in a way that isn’t sexy, but when John tells him, “Turn around for a second,” Dylan does it immediately. He flattens his hand on the shower wall and lets John spread his ass.

“What?” Dylan asks.

“I want to look at you,” John says. Dylan reaches back to help, pulling one cheek to the side for better exposure. The camera catches a shot of Dylan’s dick when Dylan turns around. John makes a couple appreciative “mm, mm” sounds, playful. “For when I miss you.”

“Yeah, right,” Dylan says. “You’ll Facetime me anyway.”

The video cuts off in the middle of his next sentence. 

Ryan can never predict when they’ll show up on his phone. John doesn’t comment on them ever, not while they’re training or out together. One of Ryan’s favorites is actually a Boomerang loop. Ryan meets friends for lunch instead of going back to the apartment with John and Dylan after the gym. The food is satisfying, but the message he gets in the middle of the meal seems more promising. He doesn’t get a chance to watch it until he’s back in his car. 

_Barely waited to get in the door_ , it reads. John’s used the mirror in their faux foyer area to film them. Dylan’s face is turned away, but it’s easy to see their pants off. John thrusts into Dylan on repeat with a clip like this. Ryan undoes his fly and rubs off in his car before he can drive home. Suddenly the fast food napkins in his center console are a lifesaver.

At home he finds John and Dylan cuddling on the couch, laughing at Brooklyn Nine-Nine episodes. 

“Hey, Ryan,” John says easily. He holds up a hand, waving. 

“Hi.” Ryan feels like an alien all the time lately, living not quite two lives but unable to find his way back to normal. 

“I want to make pizza from scratch tonight,” Dylan says, raising his head. “You in?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

“Nice,” Dylan says and tucks against John again.

Ryan doesn’t have anything else to do, so he goes to his room and starts playing music.

 

The texts start to taper off. Ryan doesn’t know what John’s after, but he hopes this means life can settle. He even takes some initiative, spending more time in the living room after a few days of retreat. He’s needed time to try to stop looking at Dylan and thinking of him spread and inviting on wrinkled sheets. 

John and Dylan are as loud as ever in the bedroom. They’re also still prone to coaxing each other into making out around the house with no desire to split apart if Ryan’s there. This is what their rhythm has become, though. Ryan’s learning to think of it as routine. 

He’s so used to it that he can tell they start kissing in the middle of watching Tomb Raider and doesn’t look over. Ryan’s eyes get heavy, and he lets the changing light of the evening and the lazy atmosphere help him drift off for a nap. He’s dipping in and out, nearly gone as John and Dylan murmur things to each other. 

He overhears John say, “See what you started. Are you leaving me like this?”

“He’s right there,” Dylan says. 

“He’s out. Look. Ryan. Hey, Ry.”

Ryan’s awake. The sound of John calling him draws him back to conscious, but he doesn’t open his eyes. 

“He could still wake up,” Dylan says. 

John scoffs. “Then be quiet.”

Silence throws Ryan off. He nearly gives in and looks, but the jingle of a belt buckle halts him. He isn’t sure if Dylan and John are standing or what until John groans. The soft slurp clues him in, and Ryan balls his hand hidden by the arm of the recliner into a fist.

Dylan begins to hum unevenly, like he doesn’t realize he’s started doing it. They’re trying to be secretive, but the furniture’s too close to truly hide anything. No one else is in the apartment to make noise that might distract from the distinct, dirty sounds of Dylan sucking John off.

“Just like that,” John whispers. “You’re doing so well. Really good, babe.” 

Dylan loves praise. He beams whenever someone compliments his stickhandling or his attempts to cook or anything. It’s not hard to believe that he’s the same when it comes to sex, motivated by a stream of appreciation.

There’s another slurp and a hollow kind of pop. Dylan’s voice is already jagged as he says, “Like it?” 

“Keep going. You’re still safe.” Fabric brushes audibly and John says, “Here, lift. On your knees more.”

Whatever John does elicits a thin whine from Dylan. “Johnny.”

“I know,” John says. “You stopped. I still want your mouth, Dyl.” Going back to blowing John muffles Dylan’s groans. John moans with him. “Fuck, yeah. Where’s that — didn't you hide lube here the other day?”

There’s no way Ryan’s going to fall asleep like this. Just the sound of them messing around is making him hard. He’s not convincing enough to continue faking it if they spend the whole time out here. The clear snap of a bottle opening tempts Ryan to peek, hoping they’re too busy. The recliner is angled far enough out that he can still see them both.

John’s smearing lube between his fingers. Dylan’s pants are pushed down to expose his ass, still bunched up high on his thighs. He’s curled on his knees. It’s a special sort of obscene, only freeing the sections of Dylan’s body that John needs. He extends his arm to push two fingers down into Dylan’s cleft, rubbing.

Dylan doesn't stop bobbing on John’s cock, doing his best to keep sucking even as John toys with him. His tiny moans twist higher when John tucks a finger inside him.

Ryan can't look away. He tries to shift his hips minutely and relieve the way his jeans are pulled over his erection, but John glances over. He catches Ryan’s prying eyes.

“Hi, Ryan.” Dylan startles and tries to look, but John’s other hand moves to hold him down. He says, “No, stay there, baby. Finish me. Ryan doesn't mind, right?”

Ryan thinks about leaving. It would be impossible to hide how hard he is if he stood, but he shouldn't stay. He wants to, though. They're right here, finally, instead of taunting him a hall away.

“No,” Ryan says. He sounds tentative to his own ears, maybe too low, but he can tell by the sound Dylan makes that he hears the answer.

John tugs his hair and pushes him down again, taking control of the pace. He pushes his second finger into Dylan’s ass at the same time he presses Dylan’s head all the way down and holds him there. Dylan sputters, choking, and he gasps for air the second John lets him breathe. 

“Good job. You can do this,” John tells him and stops Dylan’s second try at turning his head. “Don't look at Ryan. You’re with me.”

Dylan listens, getting a hand around the root of John’s cock and trying again. He chokes each time he deep throats, but he doesn't stop trying to work that in between sucking the head. John pulls at his hair sometimes. His hips buck up the closer he gets to coming, the rhythm of his praise breaking down to a litany of, “Yeah. Yeah, yeah.”

Ryan’s so hard it aches. They already know he’s watching, so he gives in and unzips his fly. He shoves his jeans to his knees and takes himself in hand. He’s never been a voyeur quite like this, and the fact that it’s Dylan and John has him throbbing. 

It takes John a minute to notice. He laughs a little and says, “Ry thinks you're good, too. He’s jerking it just watching you.”

Dylan moans, and Ryan’s face goes hot. He remembers what John said about exhibitionism. He hopes Dylan isn't embarrassed, that he’s satisfied instead.

“You look,” Ryan says and clears his throat. “It’s good, Dyl.”

Dylan whimpers. Ryan’s being completely honest. Dylan is gorgeous this way, gagging on John’s cock and stuffed with John’s fingers, ass in the air. He’s pure porn. Ryan could stare at him like this for hours. 

“Show him how well you swallow,” John says. He drops his head back, abandoning the show to lose himself in the feeling. Dylan works him over, John’s legs twitching each time he sucks hard around the head.

Dylan pulls off when John starts to come. He lets it dribble over the crown. Ryan realizes it must be for his benefit, because Dylan eventually licks down the shaft to catch the spunk he missed and puts his mouth over John’s cock again. “Baby,” John pants, but he lets Dylan control the climax of this, sucking at him so long that John grips the arm of the couch hard to weather it.

Pulling off, Dylan sits up and smiles at John. “Good?”

“Ugh, the best,” John says. He tilts his chin, prompting Dylan to kiss him. The hand playing with Dylan’s ass has slipped away. He brings it to the side of Dylan’s neck and holds him there while they kiss.

“You didn't fuck me,” Dylan says. He sounds so disappointed.

John kisses him again, quick. “Sorry,” he says, their mouths brushing. “Mm, I’m not the only one here. Ryan might have something for you.”

Dylan finally looks over at him, mouth red and puffy. Ryan’s heart hammers in his chest. He thought he could be ready, but he knows he what he must look like: hand on his cock, worked up by watching Dylan do private things.

“Why don't you help him out?” John suggests, pushing Dylan gently.

Dylan goes. He takes the bottle of lube and sheds his pants completely. His hard cock bobs in front of him as he moves to the recliner. 

“Hey.”

“Dylan,” Ryan says. He doesn't know if it’s just acknowledgement or a warning, but it’s all he can manage.

Dylan pulls at Ryan’s bottoms. He scoots them down Ryan’s legs until he can toss them to the floor. Dylan strips off his own shirt and climbs over Ryan’s lap. He bumps Ryan’s hand away from his cock to take over, getting him slick. Just the circle of his fingers makes Ryan gasp. Dylan is really touching him.

“We shouldn't,” Ryan says. This would change things more than Ryan already has. They can't undo it.

Dylan says, “I’m just doing what he told me to.” He leans forward to get Ryan’s cock behind him, finding the right position. Ryan holds his waist to steady him. “You’ve done that before.” 

“What?” Ryan says.

His cock brushes Dylan’s ass cheeks, then slowly nudges between them, dragging over sensitive skin. Dylan groans as he catches Ryan’s cock on his rim. 

“He told me,” Dylan says and pushes down. Ryan’s boiling. “Johnny told me we fucked.”

“Dylan,” Ryan says, voice breaking. He doesn't know what to feel. Shame rises in him at the same time Dylan engulfs his cock, and it feels as good as the last time. Ryan doesn't have the right to feel betrayed, but he still searches out John. “Why?”

“I tell him everything,” John says. “He should know.”

“You weren’t gonna tell me?” Dylan asks, rocking up on his knees and back down. Ryan bites back his moan, throat too swollen with panic.

“I’m sorry,” he says. His breath breaks around the word. “Dyl.”

“I asked for video.” Dylan’s moan hitches as he works up and down impossibly slow. “I saw you.”

John says, “He had me fuck him while he watched it.” 

Ryan’s having the toughest time reconciling everything. He still can’t get past Dylan knowing that Ryan came into his room while he was vulnerable. “Sorry. Sorry I did that to you,” Ryan says and sobs.

“You can’t cry,” Dylan says, voice thick and heartfelt, still working his hips. “If you cry, I’ll cry.” 

He touches their foreheads together. He’s so close. He’s everywhere. They’re sharing breath as Dylan fucks himself on Ryan’s dick, and Ryan’s humiliated by how much he still wants to kiss him. This is more than he can bear. 

“Sorry,” he repeats. He can’t think of a better word.

“We tried everything to get a rise out of you,” Dylan whispers. “To say _anything_ to us. Got louder, John sent you things after. Nothing.”

John says, “An opportunist, though. That one was unexpected.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Ryan says. He digs his fingers into Dylan’s waist, trying to hang on. It feels like he’s crumbling. Dylan’s warm and vibrant above him, totally different from what Ryan’s felt. He makes the sweetest groans between speaking. It doesn’t compare to what Ryan’s had at all, the intensity tenfold. 

“Johnny says you’re scared. Is that true?” Dylan asks, his mouth ghosting over Ryan’s. “Are you afraid to want me?”

Emotion is still welling in him. It’s hard to keep pushing the words out. “I want it too much,” he says. “I fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Dylan says, his thighs shaking as he sinks down again. “You could’ve said something.”

“Dylan,” Ryan says again. “I’m sorry.” Tears spill in spite of his efforts. Dylan braces one hand on the recliner over Ryan’s head. The other he brings to Ryan’s face, wiping over his cheekbone. He kisses Ryan once, comforting, and Ryan doesn’t deserve any of it. Dylan’s too good for him.

He says, “I need you right now, okay? Can you fuck me? Please.”

Ryan couldn’t turn Dylan down even if he wanted. He tries to spread his legs more, seeking an extra bit of leverage. Dylan gasps when Ryan bucks his hips with purpose. It’s delicious. Ryan’s never felt this wrecked and turned on simultaneously. He pumps up to meet the way Dylan’s rocking in his lap.

Dylan tosses his head back and moans out, “Fuck,” loud and long. It’s a perfect mirror of almost every time Ryan’s heard him from another room, but this is crystal clear. Powerful. This is him making Dylan feel good.

“You’re still careful,” John says. 

Ryan’s surprised when Dylan leans back. He realizes it’s John holding him steady. He brings an arm around Dylan’s neck and palms his cock with the other. Dylan whines but keeps rolling his hips as John tugs. 

“More. Harder,” Dylan begs. 

Ryan does his best to please. He marvels at the long line of Dylan’s torso and the way his nipples are pebbled. Everything is on display, held up for Ryan to savor as he drives into him.

John isn’t gentle. He strokes Dylan fast and tight, send him barreling over quicker than Dylan may have done it on his own. The moan Dylan lets out almost sounds pained, and John doesn’t stop pulling. 

“Please,” Dylan says. “Johnny.”

“You can take it,” Johnny says, unforgiving. “Ryan, don’t slow down.”

Ryan’s thrusts have faltered, caught up in the pink flush washing over Dylan’s face and chest. He seems overwhelmed and overstimulated. Ryan picks up the pace again, relishing the sight. He’s never fantasized about Dylan this destroyed, pushing him past the limit, but it’s hot. Dylan turns his head to bite John’s bicep, muffling what sounds nearly like a scream. 

John hisses, but he holds on tight. “There he is,” he says to Ryan. “That’s our boy.”

Everything that Ryan’s feeling crashes back into him. He comes buried in Dylan for the second time, but the first has nothing on how shattered this leaves him. John lets Dylan cave forward, wrung out as he slumps onto Ryan’s chest. He’s still making delicate noises, trembling when Ryan brings his arms around him. 

John smacks his ass affectionately. Dylan’s body jolts, and John says, “I’ll get towels.” He tucks his cock back in his underwear but leaves his pants undone, heading down the hall. 

Ryan rubs Dylan’s back. Dylan curls in, shifting enough that Ryan’s cock pops out of him. He thinks he feels it when some of the lube and come drips down onto his skin. Ryan doesn’t mind. It’s fitting that they make a mess of each other. 

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Dylan whimpers. He takes his time saying, “I need you.”

Ryan sighs. “I was awful to you. I’m not good,” he tries. It’s all the fight he has, barely a defense. He shouldn’t get Dylan, but he already knows he’s going to be selfish and give in.

“I want you anyway. Both of you,” Dylan says, sniffling. He tilts his head up. “Is that okay?”

Nodding, Ryan says, “I’d do anything you want.” 

Relief floods his body. Dylan could still punch Ryan in the face and kick him out, and Ryan would take it. He’s earned nothing, but he can’t turn down being with Dylan either. He’s not that strong. It’s all he’s dreamed about.

 

After John wipes them up, Dylan suggests Ryan join them in John’s room. 

“He has the bigger bed,” Dylan says. Ryan can hardly process that they want him there, but of course he agrees.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t get it at first.” John holds Dylan’s hand as they walk through the apartment, turning off the lights. “He told me about how you almost fucked in the woods.”

“I didn’t,” Ryan says. He was responsible then.

Dylan says, “I kept thinking about it after. Realized I wanted you to.”

He seems sheepish revealing that to Ryan, so Ryan leans in and kisses his shoulder. It’s okay. 

“It took time to wrap my head around it,” John says. “But I like him. And after I knew, I would see how you looked at him.”

“You thought it would be hot,” Dylan says as they enter the bedroom. He turns around, leading John to the bed backwards and giggles as John topples over him on the mattress.

“It was.” John kisses him. Dylan moans happily. Ryan stands by and watches, still shocked that they’re inviting him to look his fill. They get distracted making out until Dylan pauses to search for Ryan, holding out his hand.

Kissing Dylan now is different than earlier. As heady as ever but slightly less terrifying. Ryan crawls onto the bed and hopes he doesn’t come across as nervous as he feels. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. He feels like he should apologize to Dylan more. He’ll be making it up to him forever. 

Dylan says, “Yes. Stay here.” 

Obeying is the only real option Ryan has.

 

Ryan has guessed right all along. Dylan and John really don’t care about how much of a ruckus they make. He wakes to the lilt of Dylan’s groans, interspersed with John’s satisfied sighs. He opens his eyes and sees Dylan lying on his stomach. John’s rolling into him from behind. Dylan is looking right at Ryan’s face and smiles before it gets cut off by a moan. 

“Morning,” he pants. 

Ryan’s brief shock gives way to breathy laughter. His life is surreal. “Hi.” He strokes fingers over Dylan’s hair, around his ear. Dylan hums contentedly. “Feel good?”

“Almost,” Dylan says. “Kiss me.”

It’s the least Ryan can do. He loves Dylan's content moans against his lips.


End file.
